Once, the Stars Aligned
by finnicko-loves-anniec
Summary: Finnick O'Daire fled starvation in Ireland for New York. Annie Cresta longed to break free from the confinement of her perfectly respectable life. But even once they found one other, the two could not escape the trials of their era. A 19th-century Odesta historical AU.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** The M rating is for swearing, violence, and mild sexual content in later chapters. Does anything look familiar? Then it doesn't belong to me.

.oOo.

_January 1846_

Mam said they wouldn't have another day as nice as this one for a long time. He couldn't feel the weather in his bones like Mammy could, but even he knew that melting snow in January was a rare sight indeed. Finnick tilted his head backwards to soak up every drop of sunlight and took another small bite of his bread, determined to make it last as long as possible. He had already eaten most of his thin slice, and although Ainsleigh had long since finished her piece, he still felt he was eating it far too quickly.

"Finnick, hurry up! I want to play!" Ainsleigh caught his stomach with her elbow, and he barely managed to stop himself from tumbling off the rock. "Come on, Finnick!" she repeated.

He rubbed his side and scowled at her, but she continued to pester him with the energy only a six year old who had been cooped up inside for far too many weeks could muster. "I want to finish my dinner first," he replied.

The redheaded girl would not be deterred. "You can bring your bread with you, Finnick. Come on, I want to play, and Mam says I can't go out near the road without you." When he made no move to get up, Ainsleigh tried to drag him from his spot. Finnick groaned and stood. At the ripe old age of eight, he would never win this argument; it was best to have it over with.

As he watched Ainsleigh kick at the rocks and ugly brown weeds that lay next to the road, Finnick let his mind water to far-off places that he might someday visit: New York, where Clodagh and Callum had left Ireland for; China, where he had heard that the emperor lived in a city all his own with a hundred wives; aboard a pirate's ship, hunting for treasure and fighting soldiers. Anywhere was more exciting than here. All he had seen of Ireland consisted of little villages of stone cottages with thatch roofs, rolling green hills, and acres upon acres of blighted potatoes that marred any beauty he could have found in this country.

Ainsleigh screamed and ran towards him, ripping him from his daydream. Finnick hugged her shaking body close and looked to see what had frightened her. He took an involuntary step back when he saw two skeletons walking up the road. No, not skeletons, but children. The O'Connelly brothers from a few farms away had grown so horribly thin that Finnick could make out every bone beneath their ashen skin. He clutched his younger sister tighter, wanting to protect her from the awful sight.

The older brother, Bradan, smiled at them and began to walk up towards the house, Sean following a few steps behind. It should have been nothing unusual; they were both close to Finnick's age, and they had always gotten along well at school. But now, with Finnick so aware of their sunken cheeks and wasted muscles, they seemed hardly the same species. He wanted to help them, but he knew that despite his parents' best efforts to keep them fed, he and his siblings were far too thin as well. Yes, Bradan and Sean would soon starve, but it would hardly be the first time death had touched their community in recent years.

But, as he'd learned well since their neighbors' too-small crop began to run out in November, the O'Connellys were certain the O'Daires had at least a few bites to spare. "Oi, Finnick! Share some bread, mate?" Braden's voice held the same cheery tone as usual, but he could hear the despair underneath.

Father O'Rourick preached every Sunday to extend the hand of generosity towards thy neighbor, but Mam said differently. Their food was theirs alone, and she would not have one of her children starve so that someone else's could live. So, after a glance at the crumbling piece of bread in his hand, Finnick shook his head, and the two boys continued down the road.

He took the last bite of his bread. Somehow, it didn't taste as good as it had before.

.oOo.

_May 1849_

"And remember to always stay together."

"Don't worry, dear, they'll be fine," Da's voice was meant to be reassuring, but he sounded so uncertain that the effect was lost.

Their mother checked each of their packs, ensuring that they truly did have their tickets, food, clothing, and a bit of money. Anything else, Clodagh and Callum would have for them in New York. "You know how I worry about them. The two of you will keep each other safe, won't you?" Both boys nodded.

"Finnick and Patrick are smart lads. They know what to do." said their father.

Finnick tried to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. He didn't want to go; he'd give anything to stay here in Ireland with Mam and Da, where even if there wasn't always food on the table, he at least had his family. Finnick could barely remember Callum from his time at home, and since they had emigrated, there had been no more than a handful of letters a year exchanged between the two halves of his family. How was he supposed to stay with his eldest brother and Clodagh in New York until his parents came? Yes, Patrick would be there with him, but it wouldn't be the same as having his entire family.

As usual, his mother knew his heart as well as he did. "Don't worry, love," she whispered against his ear. Though he was only eleven, she still had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "It won't be too long at all. Remember, it took Callum four years to be able to save enough for Clodagh to come over. It took just three for the two of them to save enough for both you and Patrick. With four of you working, we'll be together again almost before you realize we're gone." She stroked his soft bronze hair with one hand and smiled at him. Ma did try to be strong for him; when he looked only at her mouth and forehead, Finnick could almost believe she wasn't crying.

He nodded, too choked to say anything. His mother pulled him into an embrace. "Finnick, dear, I do love you, but this is for the best. She stroked his hair, and he could feel the wetness of her tears through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"I love you," Finnick managed to choke out. She kissed his cheek, and then it was time to go. He and his father and brother walked down to the town square together, where they met the man who would take them to Westport. He checked that he had all of his meager supplies and hugged his father and Ainsleigh goodbye before climbing into the man's wagon.

His younger sister chased after the wagon. "Goodbye, Finnick! Goodbye, Patrick!" she shouted. He waved back at her until she was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Finnick slumped down, already exhausted and desperate to go home.

"And who is waiting for you in America, young O'Daire?" asked the man. Though Da had introduced him as Woody, Finnick doubted it was his real name. With the man's oaken leg, it seemed too perfect, and he had no wish to offend the stranger by asking. "Eh? I asked ye a question, didn't I?"

Finnick tried to remember the question, but Patrick, it seemed, had paid far better attention to the conversation. "We're going to meet our elder brother and sister there."

"I get so many of ye children gon' to New York that I can't ever remember just who I've seen. But O'Daire, now that does sound familiar, and not just from your da."

"Did you take Callum and Clodagh?" asked Finnick.

"So the little one does talk, eh?" Woody turned to look at Finnick. "Ay, Clodagh! That's a familiar name if there ever was one. Tell me, boy, what is she up to now?"

"She works in some kind of factory, like we're hopefully going to. She's married as well," answered Patrick.

"Good for 'er." Though the man seemed friendly, Finnick didn't like him. Perhaps it was that he didn't watch the road as he drove or that he smelled like goats. More likely, he couldn't like the man because he was taking him away from home.

They crossed a creek, and Finnick was further from home than he had ever been before. "We're going to make another stop here," the main said, and he pulled off the road into a little hamlet. A very old but still attractive woman waited next to a heavy wooden trunk. "Ay, Mags! Good to see ye again!" The wooden leg did not slow his jump from the carriage as Woody hoisted the trunk up into the cart.

The woman, Mags, embraced him. "And you as well, Hannigan. It's been far too long." The man's face flushed a ruddy pink when she kissed his cheek, and he tripped over his words slightly as he helped her into the wagon. She laid her walking stick on her lap and looked over the two boys.

"Good day," Patrick said. Finnick nodded, but said nothing.

The woman smiled at him. "Hannigan, I don't believe you've introduced us."

"Lads, this is Margaret Donoghue, and Mags, these two are Patrick O'Daire and his younger brother…"

"Finnick," he supplied.

Mags reached out to shake each of their hands. "A pleasure, both of you. Are the two of you headed for America, then?"

He nodded, and Patrick spoke for both of them. "Aye, we'll be sailing for New York to meet our older brother and sister. And yourself?"

"Also to New York. Aboard the _Westward Angel_, yes?"

"Us as well," he answered, and she turned her gaze towards him.

"I suppose, then, that we'll be getting to know each other quite well over the next few weeks. I look forward to it. Now, be good lads and tell me all about your older siblings and what they've said of New York."

Normally, Finnick would have allowed Patrick to answer for him, but something about this woman drew out another side of him. He found himself enthusiastically answering her questions, telling her everything he knew about Callum, Clodagh, and her husband, any thought of Ainsleigh and his parents banished by tales of buildings with ten stories and factories where hundreds of people and machines wove together. The woman listened for hours, nodding along and asking for clarification as they slowly traveled towards the coast.

.oOo.

Nine days. It had been nine days since he boarded the _Westward Angel_, nine days since he had left the only land he'd ever known behind. In all his eleven years of life, Finnick had never felt more miserable.

He huddled in his bunk, clenching his stomach as the boat roiled in rough waters. Unlike Patrick, Finnick had quickly found what the sailors on board called his sea legs, but tonight even the strongest stomachs felt queasy. He could hear the crashes of thunder above and the sound of rain pounding the decks. At home, when storms like this hit, he and Ainsleigh would try to guess how long it would be between each lightning strike and its accompanying boom of thunder. Patrick had always said it was nothing but a silly game, and Finnick agreed, but it distracted them from thinking of the sheer strength of nature. Here, even in the crowd, he was alone with the storm, no Ainsleigh to play his game with. God, he missed her. But now was no time to cry. He needed to be strong now, not just for himself, but also for Patrick.

"How are you?" asked a gentle voice.

His brother only groaned in pain, but Finnick rolled over to see Mags leaning heavily on her cane and with a concerned look on her face. "I've been better," he answered. "How are you?"

"A bit seasick, but nowhere near as bad as most of the others." She smiled at him. "Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?"

He scooched over on his narrow bunk, and the woman sat down beside him. "Are you truly alright, Finnick?" she asked, this time in a much softer voice. Tears threatened to spill down his face. "It'll be fine, lad. Don't hold it all in, Finnick. That will only crack you later. Trust me; it takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."

Finnick thought he was already cracking. One drop rolled down his face, and he sniffed. "I just want to go back home. I don't know if I'll ever see them again."

"Love, every time we part with someone, whether it's for a minute or a year, we never know if we're going to that person again. The future isn't ours to know." She patted his back, and Finnick scooted closer to her.

"Do you any children or grandchildren? Will they miss you?" As soon as the words left his lips, Finnick wished he could take them back. Mam had specifically told him not to be rude, yet here he was, asking whether or not a near stranger's family loved her.

The woman, however, did not seem offended and shook her head. "No, I never had any children. I do miss my sisters very much, but I doubt that they feel the same."

"How many sisters do you have?"

"My former sisters, I suppose," she corrected herself, "the other women who lived in my convent. I doubt they miss me much at all."

Finnick nodded in understanding. "So, you're a nun, then?"

"I was a nun for many years, but I am not any longer. I chose to leave fairly recently."

A woman in a nearby bunk gasped and scowled at Mags, shifting her child to her other side so he was further away from the old woman. Finnick was confused, for he had never heard of a nun breaking her vows and leaving the Church, but he did not ask for any more detail. It would be impolite, certainly, and he wasn't sure what the other woman had been so scandalized by. Yes, probably best not to know.

A violent wave hit the ship, and Finnick could no longer control his stomach. He vomited onto the floor, only adding to the nearly overwhelming stench of the hold. His breath came in short gasps as he tried to calm his body back to normal. He could not be sick again. It was only a waste of precious food. Yes, the crew served the passengers two meals each day, but the rations were small, not enough for eleven and thirteen-year-old boys, and the food that they had brought from home had long since ran out.

"Are you all right?" his brother asked. Finnick nodded, not quite prepared to speak again. "We're all going to die. It'll sink," moaned Patrick, tightly clutching his stomach.

Mags hushed him. "Don't worry your younger brother like that, Patrick O'Daire," she said. "You're older, and you ought to know better."

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Patrick's face had a greenish tinge, and Finnick found himself trying to put all the distance the cramped bunk would allow between him and his brother.

The woman's next words surprised him. "It's not me you should be apologizing to."

Patrick turned to Finnick. "We aren't going to sink, Finnick. 'Twas daft of me to think it." He looked at Mags, who nodded, and turned back away from them.

His brothers words should have been reassuring, but still, the thought of the _Westward Angel _slipping beneath the steely gray waves and becoming a watery grave for all on board played through his mind again and again. He saw the mast collapsing from the gales he could hear ripping against the sails, crashing to the deck and splintering the wood there. A hole opened in the side of the ship, and the sea claimed him. As soon as he dispelled that nightmare, another replaced it. In this scenario, the _Westward Angel _was driven so far off course by the storm that the captain became lost, and they drifted through the ocean as days became weeks, slowly dying of starvation and dehydration. Finnick shuddered.

Strong but slender arms wrapped around him. "You'll be all right, child," said Mags. He leaned against her. "You're a young boy far from home. I'd be more worried if you didn't miss your old life." She brushed his hair away to look directly into his eyes. "But you must remember that good things await you in New York."

"How do you know? You said that no one can know the future."

She smiled. "A smart one, you are. That I did, and a good thing it is too, for we'd all be driven mad attempting to avoid tomorrow or hurrying towards a better future."

"Then how can you say what I'll find in America?"

"Only a feeling." She patted his hand, and when another wave hit, he went rigid. Mags pulled him against her side so that he could rest his head on her shoulder. The waves hitting the ship began to shrink, and he could no longer hear rain hitting the decks above. Finnick nestled closer against Mags as his eyelids drooped in exhaustion and his breathing became shallow and even. The woman tucked his head more comfortably against her shoulder. "Yes, yes, 'twas merely a feeling, Finnick O'Daire."

.oOo.

**A/N:** I intend for this to be quite long – probably in the range of twenty to thirty chapters of about this length. I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter and would love to know what you think of the story so far. There will be quite a time jump between this and the next chapter, which is the start of the main body of the piece. This chapter was written using the prompts 'starved,' 'progress,' and 'raindrops' from Caesar's Palace. Thanks for reading!


	2. At First Sight

_May 1859_

She twisted her dark hair above her head, trying to tempt a cool breeze to her neck. Even with every window open, the apartment was still stiflingly hot, and the day was still young. It would only get worse. Annie gave up, allowing her brown hair to fall around her shoulders. She glanced towards the pile of clothes waiting on the bed she shared with her sister. The two petticoats and outer layer stared back at her. Given the heat, surely she could make do with just one petticoat today? She stuffed the heavier skirt back into her wardrobe and hurriedly dressed before joining her mother in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Mother."

The other woman looked up from the stove, where she was cooking breakfast. "Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"

Annie leaned up on her tiptoes to reach the plates in the cupboard. "Yes, I did. You?" She dropped one plate, but God must have been smiling upon her that morning, for she managed to catch it before it hit the ground. She checked that she had everything: five cups, five plates, and five spoons.

The flatware wasn't exactly an inch away from the edge of the plate like her mother had instructed her to do so many times over the years, but at least she'd managed to finish something this morning without any conflict. Annie went to grab the pot of oatmeal, but her mother's voice stopped her just as she began to lift the heavy iron pot from the stove. "Do you really intend to go about your business only half-dressed?"

She set the oatmeal back down. "I'm sorry, half dressed?"

"You are only wearing one petticoat. I do understand that today is rather warm, but that isn't acceptable dress for a young lady. Please go back to your room and come back properly dressed." Her mother studied her for another moment. "And remember your stockings this time as well."

Annie poked a foot out from under her dress, frowning when she saw that it was bare. She hadn't planned to forget her stockings, but she really didn't want to put them on. Did Mother not understand just how hot New York became in May?

Still, with a sigh, she tugged on her second petticoat and white stockings. She could always take them off again later; Aunt Violet certainly wouldn't mind. After all, the clothes her mother's sister wore could hardly be called modest. Annie hurried out to the other room, where the rest of her family had gathered. She sat down at her usual spot on her father's left and waited for him to pray before helping herself to a serving of oatmeal. "Our Father, who art in Heaven," he began.

Annie allowed her mind to wander far from her father's words. Silently, she calculated how many times she had heard this prayer. Eighteen and a half years times three hundred and sixty-five days in a year times three times in a day. That would be... somewhere over ten thousand, perhaps? She'd never been very good at mental arithmetic. In any case, one more telling of this prayer wouldn't be enough to determine whether or not she'd be saved.

Too late, she realized that Papa had finished the prayer. Her mother watched her with pursed lips, eyebrows raised in silent disappointment. Annie blushed. "Amen," she added.

Father grinned at her and winked. Annie smiled in return. He cleared his throat. "What are our plans for today?" He looked towards her brother, Edmund, who was scooping oatmeal from the pot in the center of the table into his bowl.

"I'm going to school," he answered, his voice sugared with false innocence.

"And what special chore do you have at school today?" prompted Papa.

The boy shifted in his wooden chair and pretended to think for a moment. Finally, he looked down into his bowl in shame. "I have to apologize to Miss Cartwright for not listening during lecture and getting into a fight yesterday," he mumbled.

"Don't talk into your bowl. Your father asked you a question, and he expects an answer."

Edmund closed his eyes for a second before sitting up straight and looking at Papa. "I am going to apologize to my teacher for my behavior yesterday. It wasn't appropriate."

"I'm sure that your teacher will forgive you, Edmund. Now, hurry up and finish so you can be there on time." Papa turned his eyes to Georgia. "And you, love?"

She shook her head. "I'm just helping Mama today, but Annie has something else."

Annie frowned at her seventeen-year-old sister across the table. Papa already knew what she was doing this evening; there was no reason to involve Mama. The other girl shrugged at her, smirking.

"Oh, does she?" Their mother set down her spoon to look at Annie. "I don't think you told me about this."

"I'm sorry, I must have forgotten. I'm going to help Aunt Violet tonight." Her oatmeal was suddenly far more interesting, and she pushed the somewhat watery mixture around her plate as she braced herself for the coming onslaught.

Her mother did not disappoint. "You most certainly will not be going this evening!" she snapped. Annie could see a vein throbbing in her forehead, the tension in her forehead highlighted by the rigid bun her grey-streaked brown hair had been pulled into. "One of the conditions of you being allowed into that filthy place at all was that you would always be home on Saturday to go to church early the next morning! You never make it home after you're there – not that I want you in the streets at that hour, mind you – and we won't see you 'til well after sermon, I know it. I won't allow you to go back on your promises like that, young lady."

"I'm sorry, Mama, but Aunt Violet needs me. Cecelia's littlest one is sick, so she'll be short a pair of hands on her busiest night. She won't be able to keep up without me there." Annie hoped her mother could sense the sincerity in her voice as well as the defiance.

Martha Cresta shook her head. "No, I won't allow it. Having my daughter even go into a tavern is bad enough; I refuse to have her miss church because of it. Finish your breakfast." She waited for them to go back to their meal, daring her family to continue the argument.

Annie's father looked over at her, his eyes loving and patient. She understood; he would support her, but only if she had the courage to take the first step. The spoon in her hand felt heavy as she took a deep breath. She set it down before she spoke. "I need to honor my commitments, Mama. I told Aunt Violet I would help here this evening, and I will. She needs my help."

Georgia's spoon clattered against her plate, and when Annie glanced over, she could see the surprise etched on her sister's features. Her mother's cheekbones stood high against her pinched cheeks. "No. I am your mother, and I have forbidden it. As long as you live under this roof, Annette, you will obey by my rules." The woman's voice suggested a barely restrained anger, and Annie knew better than to further press her mother.

Her father, however, was more willing to test Martha's limits. "Let Annie go, love. The girl's right about keeping promises."

Mother's face flushed, and her hands turned white as she gripped her spoon far too tightly. "I'll not have her missing church to help in my sister's sin den!"

"It's hardly a sin den, Mama, just a pub like hundreds or thousands of other ones in the city." Annie was surprised to hear Edmund's voice. Her younger brother shrugged when, suddenly, everyone's eyes were fixed on him. "Well, it's true. There's nothing unusual about it compared to all the others." He wilted under his mother's glare. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you all know far better than I."

"Certainly," their mother agreed.

"I think we should let her go, Martha," Papa added.

Annie held her breath, waiting for her mother's reply. "But she'll miss church. I won't have her burn for an evening helping my sister with the drunks."

"I'll to with Aunt Violet."

Her mother turned her attention back to Annie. "I won't be taken for a fool, Annette. Both of us know that woman never goes to church if she thinks there's a way she can weasel out of it. No, that won't do at all."

"She can worship at home for one Sunday, I'm sure," Father said. His voice held an air of finality that no one in her family dared challenge. "I think we had all best be starting our days now." He rose from the table. "I'll see you all later." He kissed them all on the forehead and hurried down the stairs to his shop.

Annie stared down into her now-cold oatmeal, trying to avoid her mother's eyes. "I'll do the laundry myself, if you'd like," she said. It really was far too hot to do the wash, but she couldn't bear to spend the entire day with Mother's accusing eyes watching her every move.

"Yes, Annette, I think that is for the best." Her mother left the table to start cleaning, leaving Annie and her siblings alone.

Georgia waited until Mama was well out of earshot and Annie was gathering the dishes to speak. "Annie?"

"Yes?"

The look on her sister's face was pure mischief. "Tonight, at Aunt Violet's, make sure to give all those Irishmen something to confess about in mass tomorrow." She winked and scurried from the room.

Annie gasped and looked over to the room's youngest occupant. Edmund's face was a mask of confusion. "What does she mean something to confess about?" he asked.

She faltered for a moment, but eventually came up with a response. "Nothing. Georgia's just being ridiculous. Come on, hurry up. You'll be late for class if you aren't careful." She made sure his lunch tin was filled and sent him out the door. For a few seconds, she sat alone at the table, thinking, before she hoisted herself up and went to fetch the dirty clothes. Her hands felt raw and her muscles stiff just from the thought of doing wash in today's heat. Already, Annie could tell that she had a long day ahead of her.

.oOo.

She ducked under the counter to take her place behind the bar, still tying the strings of her apron. Annie barely stopped herself from falling into a heap on the tile floor when someone pushed her. Her fingers flew up to her head, but her assailant had no intention of striking her a second time.

"So, Cresta, you finally decided to show up. It must be nice to not have to worry about being late." Though the words were acidic, the voice behind them held a warmth that was impossible to miss.

Annie smiled and righted herself. "Good evening to you as well, Johanna."

"Where have you been? We expected you half an hour ago." Johanna answered before Annie had a chance to speak. "I bet it was that mother of yours again. What did she do this time?"

"It wasn't my mother, actually. I can't blame her for it this time."

"Well, then the fuck were you –"

The rest of her sentence was lost to Annie when an older, heavier woman pulled Annie into a hug. "Annie, I'm so glad you could come down this evening." Violet Jennings loosened her grip on her neice, allowing Annie to step back so they were an arm's-width apart. "Now, don't tell me you let yourself get in trouble with Martha to come here tonight."

She smiled and shrugged, and Violet laughed. "Oh, Annette Cresta, whatever will I do with you? I suppose it's no matter; it's always lovely to see my favorite niece."

"I'm sure Georgia will be thrilled to hear that," said Johanna.

Violet turned to her. "You won't breathe a word of it, will you?" When the other woman only smirked in response, she added, "I'll just have to deny it then. She'll never believe your word over mine, now, will she?"

"I'm sure she'll still love you." Annie glanced around the room. All the tables shone in the dim light, courtesy of a recent cleaning, and the chairs were still somewhat in order. Glasses and tankards adorned half of the wall behind her, each almost sparklingly clean and ready for use. "Is there anything that I can help with? It looks like the two of you have everything ready."

Her aunt ran a hand over her mostly-gray hair. "I suppose there's always something, isn't there? Annie, you go check on the stew. It should be close to ready." She turned to the other woman. "And you, keep Annette here out of trouble."

Johanna grinned, all teeth and dimples that the woman would surely deny having if they were ever mentioned. "I'll be sure to keep her on her toes."

"Good! We'll have fun tonight. Saturdays are always good. The crowd's a bit on the rowdy side, but most of them have good hearts. Speaking of sweet little hearts, where is that man? He was supposed to be here a good twenty minutes ago."

"I haven't seen Brutus today," Johanna answered. Violet's mouth twitched in annoyance, and she hurried away, muttering about the impossibility of finding honest male help under her breath. The other young woman followed Annie into the tavern's cramped kitchen. "So, are you excited for your first Saturday at the Fox and Face?"

Annie leaned down to stir the enormous pot of rich stew. "Are Saturdays any different than any of the other nights?"

"The scenery's much better."

Annie glanced over to see Johanna smirking back at her. She turned back to her chore. "What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

Johanna grinned. "You'll see, I'm sure. Come on, stirring it more won't help any. Let's get back to the front. We'll have customers soon." She grabbed Annie's hand and dragged her back to the front. Annie, sensing she wouldn't escape her friend's grip, allowed herself to be tugged wherever Johanna led. With Johanna, there was no point in resisting.

.oOo.

"I don't think I realized just how many people could fit in this room," Annie tried to say to Johanna over the constant roar of the Fox and Face's patrons.

The other woman shook her head and pointed to her ear, mouthing _I can't hear you_. Anne repeated herself, this time louder, but halfway through Johanna interrupted. "Bastard, think you aren't paying for that?" The man, who had been within a few feet of the door, took one look at Johanna and another at Brutus, obviously considering making a run for it. But at the sight of the enormous man and Johanna's expression, he hunched his shoulders and came to the counter to pay. "Thank you very much," Johanna sneered as he handed her a few coins. "Sorry, what were you trying to say?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. I think I'm going to go make another round." Annie grabbed a handful of mugs, each filled to the brim with foamy beer, and started through the maze of chairs, tables, and bodies that filled the tavern. She set down full pints and gathered empty mugs, too focused on her task to notice the smiles and leers directed at her. With hands full of empty mugs, Annie hurried back to the counter. There, she found Johanna intently watching a corner of the room. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The other woman snapped out of her trance-like state. "Hmm? I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"What's wrong, Johanna? You weren't quite here for a moment." She spoke loudly, hoping her voice would travel even in the constant din of the room.

Her lips stretched into a smile, and nodded towards the corner. "This, Miss Annette, is your first example of Saturday night's much-improved scenery."

Annie followed her gaze, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw him. Her heart began to beat faster, and she could feel a blush rising onto her cheeks. Idly, she wondered how she hadn't noticed him before. Even though he was sitting, the man was several inches taller than the others at his table, and with his broad shoulders he seemed to take up a huge portion of the space. Bronze hair and golden skin contrasted with his fair-skinned, redheaded companions, and he wore a smile as he listened to the man next to him, laughing at a joke the other had made.

She didn't realize her aunt was standing next to her until she felt the woman's breath against her ear as she spoke. "He was here last Saturday as well. Finnick O'Daire, his name is. Handsome devil, isn't he?"

"And a thirsty one too. He seems to have finished his drink. Let's see if I can't fix that." Johanna reached for the mugs that Annie had filled.

Her sister's words from earlier flashed through her mind, and Annie stopped Johanna's hand. "I think I'll take care of that," she said sweetly.

Her friend raised her eyebrows. "Why, Miss Cresta, what do you think you're doing?"  
>She laughed and winked. "Well, I'm giving him something worth confessing about, of course." Aunt Violet snorted with laughter and Johanna watched, open-mouthed, as Annie made her way to Finnick O'Daire's table, hips swaying with every step.<p>

.oOo.

**A/N**: All right, two chapters down! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far! Thank you so much to goffikgirlsrok, S, bsmj, and nola for reviewing. It's always lovely to hear what people think of my writing. This chapter was written using the prompts 'conformist,' 'mundane,' and 'serendipity' from Caesar's Palace.

Also, I wanted to mention that there will be views expressed in this fiction that will rightly seem absolutely repugnant to most twenty-first century readers. I would like to stress that these are not my personal views, and that they are included here only for historical accuracy, not to hurt or demean any individual or group of people.

As always, thanks for reading.


	3. A Single Swallow

He tilted his mug up to capture the last few swallows of beer. Satisfied he'd gotten his money's worth from it, he sat the empty mug down on the tabletop, sticky with spilled drinks from the tavern's earlier patrons. Finnick struggled to hear his brother's story over the noise of the crowded room. He leaned in closer to Patrick and Callum, listening intently to Patrick's story, as the other men at his table argued back and forth about politics.

"Then, she asked if I'd ever had a drink of water before coming here, or if all the streams flowed with ale." Patrick laughed at his own story, causing Finnick to choke on his beer. He coughed, and Patrick slapped him on the back a few times before Finnick pushed him away.

Callum shook his head at both of them. "Well, you can't leave the story there, can you? What'd you say?"

"You should've let her believe it," Finnick added once he had finally cleared his throat. "Where'd she hear a daft thing like that?"

His older brother shrugged. "How could I know? I think the better question is why did she believe it? Did she think we washed out clothes and bathed in it as well?" Patrick followed his question with another drink, looking pitifully down into his mug when he realized it was empty. "Though if she thought it possible, I'm not sure it's fair to think of her as reasonable. Think the barmaids will be around again soon?" He looked around the room hopefully, but none of the barmaids were anywhere near their table, which had been pushed far into the back corner.

Callum snorted. "Well, who wouldn't want to take a bath in a tub of beer? I know I'd happily volunteer for a dip. Patrick, if you can't be patient and wait, you could just go up and ask the barmaids for another pint. I can almost promise they won't bite – at least not too hard."

"You never know with this sort." Patrick's lips twitched as he stared, forlorn, into the glass. Then, he looked up again, a sly grin on his face. "Finnick, I don't suppose you'd be willing to give a man a hand, would you, mate?"

"Go get your own beer, Patrick. I'm not going up there for you."

Patrick frowned. "Well, that one's been watching you all night. I'm sure she'd be more than happy for a chance to talk with the marvelous Finnick O'Daire, Wonder to all of Womankind."

"He's right, you know. Not about the wonder bit – that's him being an ass – but that one has had her eye on you, and she's nice-looking as well." Callum nodded towards the bar, where a dark-haired woman stared towards them as she filled clean mugs. Finnick expected her to look away the instant their eyes met, but instead she continued to stare. He was tempted to continue the game, to see who would turn away in embarrassment first, but instead he grinned at his older brother.

"I think we should send Patrick up. She looks like she'd rip him to pieces with her bare hands," he said.

Finnick missed Patrick's protests when he heard a laugh from behind him, soft and feminine. He whirled around, half-ready to be berated by the heavy older woman that ran this establishment, but instead he found himself looking into a pair of gorgeous green eyes framed with long, dark lashes. The woman smiled, and Finnick caught a glimpse of corkscrewed teeth. "Would you like another, Mr. O'Daire?" she asked, raising a full pint.

He nodded, and she set the glass down in front of him with enough force that a few drops slid down the side. Finnick didn't take his eyes off of her. "How did you know my name?"

"I asked my friend over there," the woman replied. The confidence in her voice could not entirely conceal her nervousness. He noticed for the first time that her hands shook without something to hold onto. She wiped them on her apron and turned her attention to the others at the table, going back to fetch another drink each for Callum and Patrick.

Patrick shook his head and ran his fingers through his bright red hair. "Of course, not even trying, Finnick's able to pull two in a night. And I can't manage one when I'm doing my best."

"I didn't 'pull' anyone. We barely said more than a word to one another." Finnick picked up his mug, but before the liquid reached his lips, another thought came to him and he lowered the glass. "Wait, two?"

"Don't be daft, the both of you." Callum pointed towards Patrick, and the younger man shifted in his seat. "You can't get up the courage to talk to a lady. You can't be disappointed when none of them notice your existence." Finnick snorted, and Patrick's lips tightened in annoyance. "And you," Callum continued, turning towards Finnick, "learn how to count. You shouldn't even have needed all of your fingers for that one."

Finnick grinned and took the insult with a shrug. "Why would I want to do that? It seems that not being able to count has done me well." He looked over to the bar, where the dark-haired woman stood with a man who looked as though he had once wrestled bears in the circus. Despite the man's enormous size, Finnick barely paid him any mind, instead focusing on the woman. She was slender and petite, and her dark hair was beginning to escape from the tight, rigid bun at the back of her head. Her hands danced over the taps as she stretched up to grab another clean mug. The apron she wore was tied just tight enough to reveal a hint of her waist –

Callum punched him in the shoulder. "Stop it. You'll scare her away if you keep watching her like that." Finnick pushed his brother in return. When he looked back, the woman was returning with two nearly overfilling mugs.

"And one for each of you two," she said, handing one to each of his brothers. The barmaid carefully avoided Finnick's eyes.

They murmured their thanks, and Callum met Finnick's eyes and raised his eyebrows. He bit down on his lower lip for just an instant before clearing his throat. "Ma'am?" he asked. The woman turned towards him, green eyes wide. "Might I know your name, please? It only seems fair, since you obviously know mine already."

"Annette Cresta. Pleasure to meet you." She extended her hand, which he took. Her palms were sweaty and sticky from hours of work, but it was still with reluctance that he loosened his grip. "Finnick O'Daire, yes?"

He nodded, and Patrick jabbed a finger between his ribs under the table. Taking the hint, he added, "and these are my older brothers, Callum and Patrick." He rubbed the new sore spot and glared at Patrick, who was too busy looking up at Annie, a wide smile pasted to his face, to notice.

"Pleasure," she said. "It's very nice to meet all of you." With one last glance towards Finnick, Annie retreated back towards the bar. He forced himself not to watch her leave, instead dragging his attention back to his brothers.

Though Callum smirked across the table at him, Finnick waited until Annie was well out of earshot to lean in and ask if either of them had ever seen her here before. "She wasn't here last week, was she?"

"I didn't see her," Patrick said, and Callum nodded his agreement. "On the other hand, I don't think either of us was quite as interested as you. We could have missed her."

"I suppose so." He took a long swig, savoring the slight burn against his tongue. Finnick smiled against the lip of his glass, tracking a single, dark head through the crowd as Callum and Patrick started to talk about their plans for the next day.

.oOo.

_Hands and lips glide across skin, the only barrier between them a thin coat of sweat. He murmurs his love against her cheek, and she gasps as he tugs at her ear with his teeth. He soothes the area with a gentle kiss, allowing his hands roam down her body, rubbing and squeezing, worshipping every inch of her. Eventually, his lips follow the path his hands have created, and she melts underneath him, the only sound their pants and the occasional groan. She is pliant in his hands now as he moved up to again kiss her lips. She parts her legs, and her rosy, swollen lips seem to beg for more, which he happily provides. He can see ecstasy growing in her green eyes as they move together, and he watches, entranced, as the muscles in her face grow taut before finally relaxing in perfect bliss. He follows her into heaven, and they kiss and nestle together as their hearts slow and sleep claims them._

His sheets were damp when he awoke. Finnick lay still for a long moment, savoring the memory of his dream. But all too soon, the day called, and he had to lift himself from his bed, nearly hitting his head on the low ceiling of the apartment in the process, just as he did every morning. Ruffling his bronze hair with his fingers, he went to collect his clothing from the floor, where he'd haphazardly thrown it the night before in an attempt to get both cool and undressed as quickly as possible. He stifled a yawn with his hand as he walked into the family's main living area.

"Good morning, lad." Mags smiled at him and raised herself from her usual chair. Finnick couldn't help but notice how heavily she leaned on her cane as she held out one arm for an embrace. He gave her a gentle hug. "You won't break me, child," she laughed, and he tightened his grip slightly. Finnick took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of soap and tea that he had adored since childhood and would never stop associating with his first glimpse of his new home. Mags kissed his forehead as they separated. "Tell me, have you been on your best behavior?" He nodded and started to lower her back into the chair, but she stopped him. "No, we'll be off in just a couple minutes. These old bones don't like to get up again once they're down."

"I'm glad you made time to see us on your way to Mass," he said. Silently, he counted the days since he had last seen the old woman. It certainly hadn't been in the last week; he needed to make a point of going for a visit every few days. Family deserved far better.

She smiled. "We'll be off soon. Go make yourself presentable. Your brother will be back and ready before we know it." The woman shooed him over to the corner, where a bowl of water and a cloth waited.

Finnick set about washing up. "Have you already bullied him into coming, then?" he asked as he scrubbed the last traces of his dirty work on the fishing boats off his hands.

"We both know that Patrick's a good lad. Why would I want to force or bully him into anything?" she replied with false innocence.

He wrinkled his nose at the feeling of rough cloth scraping against his face. "Where did you send him off to?"

"He said he had some errands to run before we could leave. I think he was just looking for an excuse not to go, but I'm sure he'll prove me wrong. Just as I said, he's a good one, and I know he wouldn't lie to a helpless old woman."

Finnick snorted at the thought of Mags as anything even approaching helpless, but not daring to say anything, he continued to wash. Soon, the door squeaked on its hinges, and heavy footsteps caused the dish to rattle on the table. "Hello, Patrick. How are you today?" He smirked at the older man when his brother scowled at him. Patrick's pale face was pale and there was a tense weariness in his features that revealed he was feeling the aftereffects of a night out and several pints far more acutely than Finnick. "Grumpy, eh?"

"Be quiet," the other man grumbled.

"Boys." Mags ended their argument before it could fully begin. "Come along, I'll not have us be late. Lord knows you two need all the forgiveness you can get out of Him." She led them out of the apartment and into the busy streets. Their neighborhood, not far from the Five Points, was always crowded with horses and people, even on Sunday morning. "You two do clean up nicely," she said as they passed the grocer. Finnick's stomach growled, but he doubted the woman could hear it over the noise of the street. She would only scold him for not being up in time for his morning meal. "Yes, I'm certain that Mrs. Caughlin will be jealous indeed when she sees me with two handsome young men."

Finnick laughed. "So that's the reason you have us along – to show us off."

"Naturally. What else am I to do with two handsome young men?"

"You could have stopped over after Mass and let us have a quiet morning," Patrick muttered.

The old woman picked up her pace. "Now, dear, you know I'm old and deaf and can't hear you unless you speak up. I'm sure that whatever you said was a lovely compliment, though, so I'll thank you for it." Finnick looked over to see Patrick's cheeks reddening. He moved a step ahead of Mags to help her up the steps to the church door. "Thank you, love," she said, squeezing his hand. "And Finnick?"

"Yes?"

Mags looked into his eyes, her gaze direct. "I know that you drank every bit as much as your brother. You ought to be ashamed."

Finnick blushed and meekly followed her into the church. "Yes, ma'am." The sanctuary was awash in ruby and sapphire light from the glass windows above, and the voices of the choir swirled through the space as though echoing down from heaven. He felt lifted as he guided Mags to an open pew and waited for the Mass to begin. For the next two hours, he looked down at his folded hands to avoid the accusing eyes of the Virgin and Christ. The priest's voice washed over him, warning of the dangers of Hell and the possibility of redemption. He accepted the bread of the communion, and, as he always did, carefully turned it over several times in his hands before placing the thin wafer on his tongue. This bread tasted like guilt, dry and salty, for he could only think of how this mouthful of bread meant nothing to him but could have been enough to save Mam or Da or Ainsleigh. If only he'd not been ill that first winter here. If only he'd found work sooner. If only he hadn't always been so _useless_.

Mags reached over and unclasped his hands, enfolding one of his large hands in both of her small, gentle hands. He looked over to her, and she smiled back at him. _You're fine, love. Don't worry about a night of fun once in a while. You couldn't have changed what happened. _Finnick nodded and leaned down so she could press a kiss to his forehead. When he looked up again, it was compassion, not scolding, that he saw in the statue of the crucified Christ that stared back at him.

.oOo.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Thanks to everybody who has favorite, followed, or reviewed. It's lovely to see what people think! This chapter was written using the prompts 'parched' and 'stained glass' from Caesar's Palace. I also wanted to mention that there will likely not be an update for a few weeks, as exam season starts soon, but I look forward to continuing Finnick and Annie's story. Thanks in advance for being patient.


	4. Meeting His Eyes

Annie flushed a deep shade of pink as she busied herself with filling more glasses. Good Lord, why had her confidence left her? She had wanted to come off as a seductive young woman, not a nervous schoolgirl.

"So, have you two set the date yet? I'd better be invited."

She glared towards Johanna, who had crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the bar, the picture of confidence. The woman just couldn't leave her alone, could she? "I know that went somewhat less than perfectly – or, fine, I'll admit it, terribly. You don't have to be nasty about it," she snapped.

"Nasty? Me? I don't know what you're talking about." Johanna smirked at her for an instant, but then her features relaxed. "Really, Annie, I don't think it went badly. He certainly seemed interested."

Annie could feel herself relaxing. "You think so?" She looked back to the table just in time to catch a pair of green eyes dart away. Annie smiled at Finnick's shyness and turned back to her friend. "Maybe you're right." Johanna may have been annoying, but she did understand people better than anyone else Annie had ever met.

"I'm always right," the other woman scoffed. "Give me the credit I deserve."

"Your ego is already big enough; there's no need to add to it. Here, take these." She pushed three mugs into the other woman's arms, and a few drops of beer sloshing onto the counter. Annie grabbed a rag to clean up her mess, surprised to see Johanna still standing in front of her when she turned back again. She smirked. "This is supposed to be work, yes? Not a chance to socialize with attractive young men."

"I hate you." Johanna accepted the mugs with a scowl. "You're too well-behaved. And, what's more, you're wrong - I'm certain that it can be both."

Neither of them had noticed when the older woman walked up to them. Violet surprised Annie with a snap of a washrag against her arm, and both jumped. "Get back to work, the both of you. I won't have you mulling about doing nothing while I'm paying for your time." With a gentle push, Aunt Violet shooed Johanna away before turning back to her niece. "And you, Annabelle, be careful. I don't know about this Finnick O'Daire fellow. He certainly seems like a nice young man, but I'm going to have to get to know him far better before I let him anywhere near my family."

"I'm sure he's an upstanding citizen and his mother loves him very much," she said, smiling. Bringing in his mother's love would get a rise out of her aunt if anything would.

The other woman set her hands on her hips, making herself almost too wide to fit behind the bar. "Hmph. We'll see about that. Now, what was I just telling you about being lazy while you're supposed to be working?" She gestured out to the crowd, which was still growing. Annie wasn't sure how so many people could fit into such a small establishment, but she supposed it was good for her aunt's business. More patrons meant more money, and she knew her aunt could use every extra penny.

"I love you too, Aunt Violet," she replied as sweetly as she could. Annie finished wiping the spilled beer off the counter and curtsied to her aunt before going back into the crowd to deliver half a dozen of the filled mugs.

"Stop being insolent," the woman laughed, amused as always by her niece's displays. Then, her voice turned serious. "Just be careful, dear." Annie smiled in return, but did not reply, instead advancing further into the crowd.

Violet waited until the young woman was well out of hearing range before adding, "Yes, love, be very, very careful. And let's see what I can figure out about this Mr. O'Daire before he gets too close." But there was no time for that now, when dishes needed washing and stew needed stirring and customers that needed a watchful eye kept on them. Later, though, she'd learn all there was to know about this potential new man of Annie's. She'd be damned if she'd let anyone who might try to hurt her near that girl.

.oOo.

Her mother's lips pursed in disapproval as Annie scooped small helpings of scrambled eggs onto the five plates before her. Annie tried to think of what she'd done wrong the day before. She had made her bed, helped prepare and clean up after breakfast, worked on the giant patchwork quilt that she and her sister had slaved over for so many hours, made dinner and supper… as far as she could tell, she had done everything her mother asked of her. She'd been a model daughter, and the same held true for the day before that. That left only Saturday night. _Fantastic._

"Mother, I'm very sorry for my behavior on Saturday," Annie lied. No, she couldn't be sorry for helping her aunt, but she would say most anything to stop the chill that had hung between her and her mother for the last three days.

Martha Cresta's expression remained unchanged. "If you were truly sorry, you would not have done it in the first place, Annette. I didn't raise my daughter to be rude to her own mother. Just think of the horrible example you're setting for Georgia!"

Annie struggled to remain calm, and she could not keep the curtness out of her voice. "Then perhaps I'm not sorry. But I do regret my actions and hope that you will forgive me so that we can put them behind us." Not wanting to meet her mother's eyes, she focused on the plates in front of her, making sure each held exactly the same amount of fluffy yellow eggs.

Her mother didn't speak for long moments, and Annie felt her cheeks and the back of her neck flushing red. Finally, she had to stop examining the eggs and set the table. When she turned, Annie saw Martha staring back at her coolly. "There's a man, isn't there," she said, more statement than question. "Though, with you, boy might be the more appropriate word."

Annie wasn't certain how to answer that. No, she did not have a suitor of any kind, but she wished she did, and a part of her hoped that the handsome man from the Fox and Face would sweep her off her feet and take her far away from here. Actually, the longer this conversation went, the better that scenario sounded. Still, there was no purpose in admitting that besides making her mother even angrier, and she'd never been one for confrontation. "No, there isn't," she replied. Simple, not untrue, and polite. It would work as well as anything else would on her mother when she was in this mood.

"Don't lie to me! There's no other reason a girl your age would be so adamant about going to that hell hole all the time other than to see a man. And don't think I haven't noticed your behavior these last couple days. You've been off in your own little world, sighing and staring off into space. I'm not blind, Annette. I can see what you're up to, and it needs to stop. You won't be seeing any man without the permission of both me and your father."

"I'm not seeing anyone, and I'm certainly not lying. I just wanted to help Aunt Violet. She needed an extra pair of hands at the pub. Just ask her – she'll tell you it herself." Annie straightened to her full height, which though far from imposing, still allowed her to look down on her mother.

Her mother refused to be intimidated so easily. "You wouldn't admit it even if you were," she spat out. "No, you wouldn't see any man worth your time of day at that place. They're all scum and lowlives who have no better way of spending their hard-earned wages than on cheap liquor and loose women."

"There aren't any loose women there, Mother. It's a perfectly respectable establishment, as far as those type of places go."

"I'll believe it when I see proof. I don't know what your father was thinking, letting you work in that place. Lord knows what you're learning from that sister of mine. She always was a rotten one, I'll tell you that. This… _pub _of hers only makes it that much worse." She took a long, deep breath, which she released as a sigh. "I shudder at the thought of what goes on in that place. Please, Annette, be a good girl and fetch me some tea. I'm not strong enough for arguments anymore." Her mother lowered herself into her usual spot at the table, and Annie moved to make some tea.

She hoped Georgia would come back from helping their father in the shop soon. The only sounds were the low whistle of the teapot as it came to a boil and muffled voices from downstairs. Annie swallowed the dry lump that had formed in her throat and walked to her mother with the finished tea. "I'm sorry for my behavior these last few days," she said. "I know I've been more distracted than usual, but I promise that I'm not seeing anyone and I'm not in any trouble. I will try to do better."

Her mother smiled as she brought the tea to her lips, taking a sip before she nodded. "You know that I do not want you at that place."

"Yes."

"Yet you insist on going there anyway. It does make a mother worry." She took another sip and gestured for Annie to sit. "You would tell me if there was a man, wouldn't you? I would want to know, even if you don't think I'd approve."

"Of course I would. I am telling the truth."

Martha smiled, her skin crinkling along the wrinkles that lined her face. A few locks of her graying brown hair had escaped their bun and curled down to her shoulders. It was in moments like this that Annie caught a glimpse of the woman she might someday become. It both worried and fascinated her to the point that she did not realize her mother had been speaking until Martha prodded her for a reply. "Sorry, Mother, I didn't catch that."

"Distracted again? I thought you were going to try to be better about that."

"I said I would try. Self-improvement is a long and difficult journey." Annie looked at the plates, already full of food but largely forgotten. "So, as part of my mission to be a more aware daughter, should I call Father and Georgia upstairs for dinner?"

"Please do." Martha cradled her tea in her hands as she glanced up towards heaven and shook her head. Annie could almost guess the contents of the prayer her mother recited as she hurried downstairs.

.oOo.

One step into the street, Annie could already feel the tension draining from between her shoulders. Five days was really too long to go without seeing Aunt Violet and Johanna; it was certainly too long to be spent with little company besides her immediate family. The sounds of the city surrounded her as vendors and their customers argued over prices, neighbors gossiped, and animals pulled carts through the cobblestone streets. The streets never smelled good, but Annie took a deep breath anyway. This was as close as she ever came to freedom, and she would savor it for all it was worth.

The walk to the Fox and Face never lasted long, and Annie's eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room when she stepped inside. "Hello?" she asked.

"Annie! We're in the kitchen." Her aunt poked her head out to wave hello.

Johanna's voice came from the other room. "You don't have to sound so happy. He's not here yet."

"Johanna, leave the poor girl alone."

"You know that's why she's so excited to be here. It isn't to see us, I'm sure."

Annie grinned as she tied her apron tight around her waist and hurried into the kitchen. "And why wouldn't I be excited to see my favorite people?" she asked.

Johanna rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you're still practicing that charming routine. I thought you'd have it all ready to go for when he got here."

"When? So he is coming tonight?" Annie beamed at the other two women.

"Make that _if _he gets here. I'm not a fortune-teller; how am I supposed to know?" Johanna pushed a few loaves of bread into her hands. "Come on, we don't want to hear about this Finnick O'Daire all night. We'll have to get some work out of you also."

Violet watched as Annie moved to start slicing the loaves, smiling at the girl's happily dazed expression. "He was asking about you the last time he was here," she said. "I'd bet a pretty penny that he'll show up tonight."

Annie knew Johanna hated it when she sang as she worked, so she hummed instead. Given how happy she was, it was really quite considerate of her to stop just for her friend's benefit, but judging by the constant elbowing to her ribs, Johanna didn't think it an improvement. Nevertheless, she didn't stop until the customers began to file in through the narrow doorway. No amount of grumpiness was going to spoil this evening, no matter how hard Johanna tried.

She handed out full glasses and picked up empty ones. She stirred pots and ladled out bowls of stew. She wiped up spills and cleaned mugs and counted coins. But mostly, Annie waited, hoping that a certain pair of broad shoulders would walk through the door.

She wasn't disappointed. Just when the crowd began to thin, she spotted a familiar bronze head sitting at the corner booth. Johanna slapped her on the back, causing her to spill a mug full of beer onto the counter, but Annie couldn't be angry. He came. _Time to be brave, Annie. _She turned her back to him and picked up a glass, using her distorted reflection in it as a guide to fix her hair. Annie ignored Johanna's smirk as she took a full mug and walked over to the table. "How are you tonight?" she asked as she placed the mug in front of him.

Finnick smiled up at her. "I'm doing better now. How about you?"

"I'm well." Annie bit down on her lower lip. She really should be working right now, not making idle chitchat with a handsome almost-stranger, but opportunities as promising as this one did not arise every day. Only a handful of patrons still remained, and Johanna and Brutus could easily handle them…

"Would you care to sit down? Some company would be welcome. I could buy you a drink, if you'd like."

Annie glanced towards the bar to check that her aunt wasn't watching before smiling and taking the seat across from him. "I think I'll have to decline on the drink, though. My mother wouldn't like it."

"Does it bother you if I partake?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. I do realize that's why people come here."

He flushed. Ah, perhaps a pint or two wasn't why everyone was here tonight. She found herself fiddling with the ties of her apron and forced her hands to be still. "We met a couple weeks ago, yes?" Not the best way to start a conversation, but Annie considered it a valiant effort.

"Yes, the Saturday before last. I'm Finnick O'Daire," he said, reaching across the table to offer his hand.

She took his hand and shook. His hands had rough callouses, but his grip was gentle and the smile on his face was genuine. Annie felt butterflies in her stomach. "And I'm Annie Cresta. It's very nice to meet you for a second time. How is business? Actually, what is your business?"

"I'm surprised your aunt hasn't told you everything about me. She certainly wanted to learn everything there is to know."

"Oh, I didn't realize you'd spoken with Aunt Violet." Annie wished that she'd taken him up on his offer for a drink. Yes, she'd never had more than a sip or two out of curiosity before, but it would give her something to do with her hands.

"We talked when I came in on Saturday. You weren't there that night." He looked down into his mug and chuckled. "She's very protective. You're lucky to have her."

"I agree. Aunt Violet's wonderful." Annie met his eyes and held them for a second longer than was probably proper. Her cheeks flushed as she finally looked away. Her hands tightened into fists under the table. For a moment, both of them struggled to find something to talk about. Finnick distracted himself by taking another sip of ale. "What is your family like?" she asked, finally having come up with a new topic.

He choked and sputtered on his drink. Finnick put up a hand, signaling for her to wait until he had swallowed. Annie passed him a cloth that she had stowed in her pocket earlier that evening and smiled. Their interactions so far had been awkward, strange, and more than a bit uncomfortable, but Annie thought it could blossom into something wonderful. Maybe, just maybe, this was what love felt like.

.oOo.

**A/N**: No, despite the month-long hiatus, I actually didn't abandon this story. It's good to be back! Thanks for reading, and special thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, or reviewed. This chapter was written using the Caesar's Palace prompts querulous, rancorous, and intrepid.


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